


The Wishmaster

by lokilette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Hogwarts Founders Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4598418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokilette/pseuds/lokilette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lily is prepared to do anything to save her son, so with her dying breath she finishes the ritual to cast her wish to the Wishmaster, asking to send Harry back into the past. Years before that fateful event, a green-eyed toddler is found by Salazar Slytherin, who decides to take him in as an heir. But the child has dreams much greater than simply being Slytherin's heir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Slytherin's Heir

**Author's Note:**

> This is a three-chapter piece with 5,000 words per chapter done for a competition. The basic plot of sending Harry back to be Slytherin's heir was given as a challenge by Little.Miss.Xanda and given to me as part of the task. I've never written anything about the Founders previously or given them much thought, so this was interesting.

_Footsteps on the stairs. It's only a matter of time now. Lily knows she's dying._

_Leaning over the crib, she strokes her baby's cheek for one last time. She wants to remember this—the innocence, the hope, the love. Merlin knows she's made mistakes in her life, but she refuses to let this be one of them._

" _You'll be safe, Harry. I promise."_

_She's thankful, almost, that James is lying dead downstairs. He'll never need to know how she's betrayed him. A Light witch doesn't dabble in the Dark Arts, but neither does a mother forsake her child to die. Lily had chosen the lesser of the two evils._

_The door flies open in a blinding flash of white, and her breath catches in her throat. Where is the lion in her now? It's all she can do to keep her knees from trembling, to stand upright in the face of her killer, to keep her resolve from quaking. She plants herself firmly in front of the crib, using her body to shield her son._

" _Stand aside."_

" _Not Harry. Please no," she manages to choke out. The cold eyes that glare back at her make it clear that her words are in vain. There is only one possible outcome. "Take me. Kill me instead."_

" _This is my last warning!"_

" _Not Harry! Please...have mercy..."_

_This is the way it has to end. The protection spell isn't quite finished. Only one component is missing: a life for a life. Tonight was always meant to end with her death. It's a sacrifice she's glad to make, one that any mother will make. She can feel Voldemort's patience waning, and she knows she can't back down now. There is no taking the easy way out, not after all the work she's put into this spell. She has to see it through._

" _Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything..."_

_She finds relief in the two angry words that are meant to dispose of her, and she welcomes the green light that surrounds her—invites it into her skin, her bones, her soul. With her final thought, she casts her dying wish out into the universe, content that the spell has finally been completed by the stilling of her heart. Somewhere, the Wishmaster is listening._

I wish for my love to protect my son from death. Instead of killing him, let the next curse send him back in time where he will find someone to raise him.

_She knows the danger of time travel, but she refuses to allow her son to become a martyr for some farce of a cause. There's no choice left but to destroy the past in order to ensure her son's future._

**...oOo...**

Salazar paused from his trek back to Hogwarts, trailing his eyes along the shadows that played beneath the trees of the Forbidden Forest. There was a chill in the air that could neither be attributed to the night nor his age. There was Dark magic at play somewhere nearby. He was sure of it.

He glanced into the distance at the beckoning lights and tall, stoic facade of the castle. What exactly was he in a rush to return to, anyway? Another dinner spent contemplating the merits of a fork to the eye? Perchance a riveting lecture about excluding certain students from tutelage, as if it was somehow his job to train every poor sap who thought himself a wizard?

As the years passed, Salazar's evening constitutional became longer and the pull of Hogwarts lessened. Tonight, it was nearly non-existent, so he turned to the depths of the woods. Besides, he wasn't yet old enough to forfeit his curiosity, nor did he fear the myriad of creatures who were foolish enough to call the forest home. With one hand gripping the wand hidden in his robe, he made his way toward the source of the magic.

There was a wail unlike any he had encountered before in the forest riding the evening breeze. To his right, a branch snapped, and the golden eyes of a thestral crept past him. Quite an interesting thing, indeed, if even the creatures were wary enough to give it a wide berth.

Salazar relaxed his grip on his wand. Now that he was closer, it was easy enough to recognize the shrill, piercing cry of an infant. Sure enough, as he pushed aside some branches, there it was flailing on the ground, a mere silhouette in the fading gray of twilight.

Babies, as far as he was concerned, were foul, useless creatures, but this one, he supposed, had at least a slight bit of interest to it. The remnants of the Dark magic were still clinging to the air, heavy fragments that made it hard to breathe. Someone had gone through an awful lot of trouble to get the bothersome whelp there.

In several steps, Salazar stood over the infant, who could only be maybe a year old. The wails slowed to staggered sobs as they regarded each other. What was he to do? What would the others do?

Godric the Halfwit would no doubt set off on a fool-hearted quest to find the lad's parents, but Salazar was far from that naïve. Whoever had sent the boy there had good reason to. No one was expecting him back.

Rowena the Coxcomb would likely weigh the pros and cons of accepting a ward so young into Hogwarts. No good could come of it, especially one who was already familiar with Dark magic. It would simply be inviting disaster. Ultimately, for the greater good of everyone, she would send him off somewhere to live, no doubt in squalor, and wash her hands of the situation.

Then there was Helga. Suffice it to say, he was no Helga, who welcomed everyone with open arms. Salazar had no doubts that one day she would even welcome her murderer into her graces, the dimwitted Hufflepuff that she was.

Still, of all the things Salazar possessed, there was one that had eluded him and that he was now far too old to pursue: an heir.

There was no fear in the green eyes that looked up at him. After a moment, the boy held his pudgy hands in the air, as if it was his prerogative to simply insert himself into this new-found life he had never even known existed.

Salazar picked the boy up carefully, inspecting every inch. No injuries, as far as he could tell. Healthy-looking, at the very least.

"You'll be expecting a name, no doubt," he said, yanking his beard out of the child's death grip and holding him at arm's length. "Something that suits your surname and upbringing is ideal. From this day forward, little snake, you will be known as Chaves Slytherin."

With the proper training, this child could very well prove to be the answer to all he had wished for.

**...oOo...**

The others must have received his message, for when he arrived at the castle, they were already gathered, looking weary and nonplussed.

"Holy Circe," Helga gasped, clutching her bosom with one hand and fanning her face with the other. She was the first to notice the squirming bundle in his arms.

"Is that..." Rowena squinted as if it would help her see clearly, as if her eyes might be deceiving her, "...a...baby?"

"Is it... _yours_?" Godric asked, adding extra emphasis to the last word as if it was the most ludicrous thing in the world. To Salazar's amusement, the cogs in his mind where whirring particularly fast trying to piece together the situation.

"As of now, yes, he is. I've named him Chaves Slytherin."

"I understand that social etiquette isn't your strong suit, but you can't  _claim_  children," Rowena huffed, flushing slightly at the very thought of it. "Take him back to wherever you got him."

"You mean in the forest? With the Dark, hungry creatures? Well, if you insist..."

Salazar turned to leave, but the normally timid Helga blocked his path and reached out for the baby.

"Let's not make any decisions in haste, shall we?" she said as she gathered Chaves in her arms and bounced the cooing child on her hip. "For starters, I dare say he's famished. Just look at the poor thing. Chaves, you said?"

Before Salazar could even answer, with a swish of her skirt, Helga bustled past him, heading towards the kitchen as she continued, "Yes, he'll definitely need some food. A fresh cloth, too, I'd wager a guess."

"You know, he  _does_  look an awful lot like you," Godric told Salazar, still rubbing his chin, deep in thought. As always, the dull lion was several steps behind in the conversation. "What with your green eyes and black hair. Well, back when you  _had_  hair, of course."

"What a relief it is that time hasn't dulled your wit any," Salazar replied.

"At the very least, I suppose, the child will have all of us here. I mean, it's not like you could have raised him all on your own," Rowena said.

She watched him closely for a response, and even though Salazar knew she intended the words to have a bite to them, they were just what he had been hoping for. He had no intention of participating in the quotidian care of a baby—it was woman's work. Lucky for him, there were two women who were more than willing to fill the position, at least until the boy could care for himself, and they would be none the wiser.

For better or worse, Salazar found himself once more chained to Hogwarts, unable to break free.

**...oOo...**

When Chaves entered the dorms bloody and bruised, for the fourth time that week, Salazar knew it was time to give him a wand. He was no longer a child and not quite ready yet to be a proper wizard, at only eight years of age, but it could be put off no longer.

The first time it happened, Chaves wound up with a simple skinned knee after being tripped by an older boy. Salazar had made himself scarce, forcing the boy to seek out another. Helga was the first person he had come across. Salazar watched from the shadows as she fretted over the scrape like the mother hen she was. Once it was properly tended, she had sent Chaves on his way with a useless, "Accidents happen. Do try to be more careful next time."

The next day, it was a nasty gash on his head from colliding with something sharp when he was knocked to the ground by the same bully. To Salazar's pleasure, Chaves had enough sense to avoid Helga this time and went straight to Rowena, instead, who patched him up with pursed lips.

"Fighting will get you nowhere," she chided. "Next time, try using your words instead of your fists."

So he did, which led to injury three: a split lip. Chaves looked so mortified at running into Godric, who promised to fix him up as good as new, that Salazar was almost swayed enough to intervene. Almost. If he did, what would the boy learn? Nothing. Instead, he watched as Godric performed an impressively efficient healing spell and asked what happened. He looked positively appalled by the tale.

"What ever would you want to use your words for? Words have no place in a duel!"

"Except for spells, you mean?" Chaves asked, rubbing the spot on his lip where the cut had been.

"Huh? Oh yes, of course, spells. Forget using your words." Godric grabbed the boy's hands and forced them into fists. " _These—_ these are all you need. If you don't allow them to intimidate you, if you refuse to surrender, then you are sure to succeed. Why would you ever use your words when you can simply use your fists?"

Being that Chaves looked very much like the Slytherin he was—from the pale skin to the diminutive stature to his scrawny build—that went over about as well as the time Godric decided a dragon made an ideal pet. Which brought them to number four, when he trudged up the grounds to Hogwarts wearing numerous scrapes and bruises.

As soon as Chaves entered the castle, Salazar stepped in front of him.

"Come."

Salazar headed towards the dungeon with no further explanation. It wasn't the boy's place to demand reasons, and Salazar owed him none.

"Where are we going?"

"It's time I show you how to deal with your little problem the proper way."

"You have no intention of healing me, do you?"

"Now, be reasonable. If I did that, what would you learn?"

Once they reached his office, Salazar closed the door behind them and sealed it with charms to make sure they wouldn't be disturbed. He rifled through his desk for a minute, loosing charms where it was required, and finally extricated a long, velvet-lined box.

"One day, little snake, as you must have realized, you will inherit my legacy, which includes my wand," he said as he walked around the desk and stopped just before Chaves. "But as I am still very much in need of it, this will have to suffice."

He held out the box, and Chaves reached for it tentatively, paused, and glanced up at him as if requesting permission.

"Go on. Take it."

Chaves accepted the gift eagerly, pulling it open with barely-contained excitement.

"Is this..."

Chaves trailed off as he took the wand in hand, treating it as a fragile artifact deserving respect.

"Eleven inches, holly, with a phoenix feather core. It was my mother's, but I dare say it shall serve you just fine."

"Are you going to teach me magic now?"

"No, I shall send you off to wave it around like a dolt and hope for the best." The boy was lucky he wasn't a Gryffindor, as it sounded like a very Gryffindor thing to do, once Salazar said it aloud. "I shall teach you one spell—just one—that will assist you in dealing with your...problem. Once you've succeeded, and only then, I shall teach you another. Understood?"

Chaves nodded eagerly, so Salazar drew his wand and, with a swish, said, "Vermillious."

Red sparks shot from the end of it, fizzling out harmlessly before they landed on anything. Salazar demonstrated the spell one more time and then left Chaves there to either succeed or fail on his own. Hand-holding and coddling was no way to raise up a proper wizard.

For three days, Salazar lurked in the shadows, observing long, determined training sessions with varying degrees of success. No spells had backfired, and there were only three occasions which he had to intervene to put out fires. Not terribly impressive, but not unexpected, either.

On the fourth day, the older boy—Musca, if memory served—pushed again, too hard this time, and without a warning, Chaves drew his wand. Musca yelped, the sound distorted by pain and rage, as a few of the sparks caught his arm, leaving behind angry, red welts.

The boy had done his part—satisfactorily, to say the least—so now it was Salazar's turn. He swooped in just as Musca drew his own wand and disarmed him before he even knew what was happening.

"Go seek out Lady Hufflepuff. She will tend to those wounds for you," Salazar said as he handed Musca back his wand. The student looked at him sheepishly, having been caught in the act, before going on his way. Turning to Chaves, he added, "You. Come."

Salazar led the boy into the Forbidden Forest, where they were certain to be alone. Only a young Gryffindor would be foolish enough to brave the darkness that dwelt in the forest. He, of course, was well-acquainted with the Dark Arts and proficient enough with magic, and the boy—well, the boy was either born without fear or dropped once too often on his head, as far as Salazar could tell. For better or for worse, he didn't shy from the unknown, and more than once, Salazar had discovered him at the edge of the woods, conversing with one or two snakes that frequented the area.

After walking for several minutes, Salazar stopped and took a seat on a nearby stump to rest his weary bones. With each passing day, it was becoming more apparent that he was no longer the young wizard he used to be.

"Am I in trouble? For hurting a student?" Chaves finally asked when their matching green eyes met.

"That depends on your intentions in casting that spell. Did you do so maliciously, desiring only to cause him pain?"

"No, sir. I just wanted him to stop."

"In that case, listen up, little snake, for I shall say this once and only once. Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings. Regardless of what Lady Ravenclaw would have you think, intelligence alone is not enough. Likewise, bravery without quandary is useless. There has to be a goal, some dream that you desire to fulfill. Make a wish and then find a way to grant it. There will always be naysayers. There will always be those who try to hold you back. Never apologize for fighting to make your dream come true. You are destined for magnificent things, little snake. You are the master of your own wish."

**...oOo...**

"What if I'm not a Slytherin?"

Chaves swallowed loudly as he pulled at the collar of his robes.

"But you are, little snake. Otherwise, you would not be my heir. You're a Slytherin through and through."

"Right. But what if—just what if—I was sorted into, say, a different house?"

"What house would you possibly get sorted into? I dare say you haven't the pure wit for a Ravenclaw, and though Lady Hufflepuff would welcome you with open arms, as she does with everyone, you're not exactly a Hufflepuff, either, are you? What does that leave?"

"Gryffindor?"

"If you were sorted into Gryffindor, I suppose I should have to disown you." Salazar resisted the urge to chuckle at the panic that flashed on the boy's face at the mere suggestion. "Do you  _want_  to be a Gryffindor?"

"No!"

The answer was earnest enough, delivered with furrowed brows and a scrunched-up face as if the very idea was disgusting.

"Rest assured, the Hat will not place you anywhere you would loathe to be. The Sorting will go just fine." Salazar readjusted the boy's robes—couldn't be trusted even to dress himself just yet, apparently, judging by his sloppy appearance—and then stepped back to scrutinize the result. One day, Salazar was confident the boy would grow into a fine gentleman, the sort that was a proper Slytherin heir, but today clearly wasn't that day. "Your outfit is missing just one thing."

From his robes, Salazar withdrew a long feather that seemed to glimmer in a hundred shades of red, yellow, and orange as if there was a fire burning inside it. He attached it neatly to the base of Chaves' black hat, a splash of color against the black leather.

"A phoenix feather? Like my wand!"

Chaves smiled as if all his worries had suddenly vanished. Could it truly have only been a decade since Salazar had stumbled across an abandoned green-eyed child in the Forbidden Forest? It hardly felt longer than the blink of an eye.

"Fret not, little snake," Salazar said, patting him lightly on the shoulder, "and remember what it is that makes you a Slytherin in the first place."

His features were still pallid and he was white as an ermine, but at the very least, the wobble had gone out of his legs. Was the Sorting really so nerve-wracking? Salazar had always assumed it would be self-evident. If one knew one's self, then their proper house should be obvious. The way these first years acted, one would think they had to face a dragon to gain admittance to Hogwarts, which wasn't the worst idea ever. It would certainly liven up an otherwise dull ceremony.

Salazar took his place at the head of the room, with the other founders, to watch the ceremony. There was a decent lot this year, now that word had started spreading like wildfire across the country. Witches and wizards had a rekindled desire to come out of hiding and practice magic, despite the bans placed upon it, or perhaps because of them.

"Slytherin, Chaves."

The boy was finally called, and he approached the Sorting Hat with calm austerity. It was merely a facade, but he played the part well. Though it was against the rules—as if they had ever given him pause before—Salazar invaded the boy's thoughts in order to eavesdrop on the conversation.

_Not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor. Anything but Gryffindor._

_Not Gryffindor? Hm. Are you sure? You could do marvelous things there, and you certainly have enough bravery. Are you not a lion?_

_No, I don't think so. I mean, I am brave, but I'm not a lion._

_Then what are you?_

_I'm...I'm a snake._

_If you insist..._

"SLYTHERIN!"

The boy looked relieved, as if he had actually believed he might belong anywhere but his father's house. As Chaves took a seat at the Slytherin table, their green eyes met from the across the room, and Salazar offered him a slight nod and a smirk. There was still a long road ahead for him. After all, this was only the beginning. Still, that was a realization that would have to wait for another day. For now, Salazar was content to let him have this one wish that came true.

**...oOo...**

"You wanted to see me, Father?"

Salazar glanced up from his desk as Chaves entered. He was no longer a boy, having successfully completed his years at Hogwarts. His black hair had grown long and wavy, his voice deepened, his shoulders broadened, and there was a hint of a beard attempting to sprout along his jaw. He was quickly becoming the man he was always meant to be, but he still wasn't quite there yet. Hogwarts was only ever meant to be the beginning.

"Sit."

Salazar waved toward the chair across from him, and Chaves obediently took a seat.

"I have a gift for you, in recognition of having completed your Hogwarts studies" he said as he reached into his desk and pulled out a medium-sized box. Chaves took it and offered a meek thank you, but Salazar knew from his averting eyes and his feeble tone that there was something bothering him. "Is there something on your mind, little snake?"

Chaves still refused to look directly at him as he spoke, and he began to chew his lip—a nervous tick that he had developed when faced with stressful situations.

"I'm leaving, Father."

"Oh?" Salazar quirked his eyebrows, attempting to suppress the flicker of a smile that tugged at his lips.

"I've made up my mind, and no amount of coaxing will change it now. I want to see the world. I'll always be grateful to you and Lady Ravenclaw and Lady Hufflepuff and even Lord Gryffindor, but I can't stay here at Hogwarts anymore."

"And what do you intend to do once you leave the castle? Where will you go?"

"Greece, for starters. Rumor has it that they have a whole host of fascinating wizards studying the Dark Arts. One of them is even attempting to create a brand-new creature that will be an amalgamation of the best parts of other beasts, though no one seems to know if he's been successful or not yet. Can you imagine?"

Salazar couldn't keep himself from smiling at Chaves' enthusiasm. He was indeed a child no longer, and thus, there was no way to contain his potential within the walls of Hogwarts. He had long outgrown the stone confines, and this day had been a long time coming.

"I think, perhaps, that you should open your present before we discuss this any further."

"But Father..."

"Please, open it."

With a furrowed brow, Chaves tugged at the bow and pulled the top off the box. Salazar had been careful to place the proper concealment spells and wards on the contents, lest anyone unwanted come across it, and Chaves must have realized this since he pulled his wand and started muttering the counter spells. When he was finished, he stared befuddled at the lone toad sitting atop an egg in the velvet-lined interior.

"I dare say that you have no idea what it is I've even given you, do you?" Salazar asked, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands in his lap. It was clear from the look on Chaves' face that he didn't, but what would be the fun in assuming rather than making it painfully clear? Every wizard needed to be aware of the depth of their ignorance. He was simply doing his son a favor at this point, imparting a lesson that would carry him into the future, long after he was no longer around to do it.

"A...toad? On an egg? I don't understand."

"It comes from Greece, too, from a rather brilliant wizard I met before you came along. Back in my younger days, when I was want to travel. If you leave that toad there, a basilisk will hatch from that egg."

"A basilisk?"

"It's the king of all serpents. It'll be a fitting travel companion for my little snake, no?"

"Then...you aren't upset about me leaving?"

"On the contrary. If you had decided to stay, I would have hastily given you a boot out the door. By all means, it will do you good to explore. Learn what you can from others. You have a decade. At the end of that decade, I expect you to return, and then your real training will commence. Make no mistake, I will not go easy on you."

"Yes, Father."

Chaves smiled deeply, sincerely, and it warmed Salazar's old heart to see the man so yearning for his freedom and to come into his own. He truly could not have had better luck than to have Fortuna herself deliver him a child. While there was still plenty left to be done in his own life, his wish of having a proper Slytherin heir had finally come to fruition.

**...oOo...**

Salazar circled his son, long robes scraping the ground as he walked slowly and deliberately. He had to admit, the man had seen better days, what with the dried blood crusting his hair, his skin flayed open in several spots, and a seemingly endless number of purple-black bruises creating a mottled tapestry across his skin. Although, he had indeed succeeded in retrieving the Manticore tail Salazar had requested, which was always nice to have on hand as it could be used to concoct quite potent poisons.

"Have I passed your test, Father?"

"This one, yes."

"Then, you mean, there are others?"

There was no hint of fear in his voice. In true Slytherin fashion, there was a gleam in the green eyes that spoke of a lust to prove one's self and the desire to overcome adversity.

"One more. This shall be the final test to prove what you are capable of. After that, your life is your own to make what you will of it. I shall be convinced that I have taught you the most important lessons that I can."

"I'm ready."

"I hope so, because I should like a dragon's egg. I hear the Horntails are nesting about now."

"Horntails? You mean dragons?"

"Yes, out in the east. Nasty creatures, though, and terribly maternal. They would rather die than abandon their egg, so I'd keep your wits about you, if I were you."

"I won't let you down, Father."

Salazar had no reservations about that. While it was true that his son had failed at many things throughout his life, he had never once been a failure.

**...oOo...**

Salazar knew that it was time. He had tried to ignore the chill that had settled in his bones and taken every remedy known to Wizard-kind in order to stave it off, all to no avail. Death came for everyone in the end. It was a realization he had come to long ago, and now, it was his turn.

Chaves was by his bed, as he had been for who knew how long. Days and nights had grafted together until they were an indistinguishable blob. The curtains were never drawn in his room; night and day were meaningless.

"You are the heir I had always hoped for," Salazar said, though his voice came out more as a wheeze than anything. With faltering movements, he drew the wand from his robe and placed it in Chaves' hand. "I pass my wand on to you, as my father did to me. I know that you've grown rather attached to yours, so I won't begrudge you to use it, but pass it on to your own son."

"I shall."

"There is only one last wish that I would have you fulfill, if you still had it in you to fulfill an old man's dreams."

"Anything, Father. Just name it."

"Carry on the Slytherin legacy. Wear the name proudly. You've earned it, little snake."

"Of course. I shall make you proud."

As he closed his eyes and rested back against the pillow, Salazar had no doubts about his son's future. The Slytherin name was in good hands. He had been confident of that from the start. That's why he had named the green-eyed child in the Forbidden Forest Chaves—the key, the dream maker.


	2. Careful What You Wish For

The day he buried his father, Chaves realized he was no longer the heir of Slytherin; he  _was_  Slytherin. The one and only. The name was now his to make of it as he would.

The funeral was small, as it should have been. Father had managed to estrange himself from his closest friends, and that choice was his to make by right. They had never reconciled their differences, and a funeral was far too late to mend fences, so what was the sense?

Chaves scooped up a handful of moist earth and stepped toward the fresh grave. He let it trickle from his hand as he made a silent vow.

_I promise, whatever it takes, that I shall grant your final wish, Father._

Two soft, slender arms snaked around his chest, and a warm body pressed against his back. She buried her face between his shoulder blades, her words muffled by his robes.

"What do you intend, my love?"

"I shall go home, if they would have me." He ran his fingers along her soft, porcelain skin, admiring its lack of imperfections. Just like the woman. "And you? What do you intend?"

"I shall follow. To the ends of the Earth, if it pleases you."

"And beyond?"

"Beyond that, you walk alone. I step off the edge of the world for no man."

Chaves spun around, letting his hands slip down the small of her back and pulling her closer. She smelled like wildflowers—the ones she liked to pick on long walks or braid into her hair or tuck behind her ear.

"Then marry me, Amaltheia Black. Tomorrow, before we leave. Let us take this adventure together, start this new life as husband and wife. What say you?"

"Together...forever?"

"Nothing lasts forever, my star." He kissed her forehead gently as he ran a hand through her silky, raven hair. "Together 'til death sees fit to part us."

**...oOo...**

"Young Lord Slytherin. I must confess, I never imagined I would see you again. You have grown a lot in the decades since you were here."

It was true; many years had passed. Hogwarts looked the same as always, but the passage of time was evident in the Founders. Lady Ravenclaw's sharp, blue eyes had dulled ever so slightly, though her thinning face only lent power to her hawkish stare.

She folded her hands and let her elbows rest on the desk. Bearing the brunt of her scrutiny, Chaves realized that this would be more than a mere meeting; it would be an inquisition. That suited him just fine. He was prepared to answer anything she might ask.

"So, you have come back. Why now?"

"My time has been spent caring for Father during his illness. Now that he's moved on, I thought it wise that I do the same."

Her jaw clenched, and a softness flickered in her eyes just for a second.

"My condolences for your loss," Lady Ravenclaw said softly, and Chaves could tell it was sincere. Whatever their differences, whatever falling out they might have had, they had still been friends. He wondered if perhaps he should have broken the news a bit gentler, but his guilt was assuaged as she cleared her throat and changed the subject.

"It is my understanding that you have requested to fill the post of potions master?"

"Yes, my lady."

"What makes you think you're qualified?"

"I have spent decades under my father's tutelage. Do you find me unqualified?"

Lady Ravenclaw shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she pursed her lips. A moment of silence lapsed between them before she finally said, "No, I suppose not."

"I grew up here, in these halls. I consider you and Lady Hufflepuff and even Lord Gryffindor as family."

"Yet, we've seen neither hide nor hair of you all these years."

"Sometimes families become estranged. Does that make them any less family?"

Chaves watched the cogs in her mind churning somewhere behind those cold, sapphire eyes. He had chosen his words carefully, a trait learned after many years of observing his father. In his absence, Lady Ravenclaw had given birth to her own child, perhaps later in life than advised, and the more the girl grew, so too did the distance between them.

"You have a year—just one—to prove that you belong here. If all goes well, you may stay."

"Thank you, my lady." Chaves inclined his head in her direction as he stood. "I assure you, you shall not regret it."

**...oOo...**

"Wake up, my star," Chaves whispered as he slipped into bed beside his wife. She emanated warmth like a fire, and for a moment, he was content to let her rescue him from the chill of the night. Then, he shook her again, more fervently. "I need your help."

One eye reluctantly fluttered open, and Amaltheia groaned at the cloud of darkness that still nested over the house.

"Can help at least wait until the sun?"

"No, I fear not." Chaves threw the covers off, allowing the cold to slither around them. Amaltheia groaned as she buried her face in the crook of her arm. "We only have a year. We must start now if we are to finish in time."

"A year? For what?"

"To build a chamber, you silly witch. What else did you imagine I had in mind for Coluber once we arrived?"

Amaltheia heaved a sigh as she rolled over and propped herself up with an arm.

"I did wonder where you thought to hide a basilisk here. It's naught but sparse forests and rolling hills."

"You'll help, then?"

"Of course." Amaltheia leaned in and pressed her soft lips to his. Chaves could almost taste her words as she whispered, "As soon as the sun comes up."

With a final harrumph, she reclaimed the covers and settled back down to sleep. It could wait until the morning after all, Chaves decided. He had learned by now that once could be forgiven, but wake a sleeping witch twice and one might as well light their own funeral pyre.

**...oOo...**

It was hard to believe that a year had already come and gone, but as Chaves stood in the enormous, yawning cavern hidden under a trapdoor in an abandoned first-floor room, he knew it had been worth it. His father's dream was finally coming to fruition. Amaltheia was at home, early in her first pregnancy, which meant that Slytherin would have an heir before too long. And somewhere down the line, that heir would stand there, just as he was doing, staring up at the heavily-lidded eyes as he realized his destiny.

"This is your new home, Coluber," Chaves said in Parseltongue. The basilisk lowered his head in response, and Chaves rewarded him by scratching his favorite spot—a point on his snout midway between his nose slits. "You have been a loyal friend, but I fear this is the end. When next you wake, it will be by the beckon of my heir, a rightful Slytherin. You will know by his voice and blood. Serve him well. Can you do that?"

 _Yesssss, masssster,_ was the response, but Chaves got the impression that the basilisk was only half-listening.

"We may not meet again, old friend. Sleep well," Chaves whispered, rubbing Coluber's snout with one hand. With the other, he slipped his wand out of his robes and pointed it at the basilisk, casting a non-verbal spell.

_Somnus aeternum._

**...oOo...**

Godric Gryffindor's funeral was the antithesis of Salazar Slytherin's—loud, crowded, and lively. Chaves wasn't entirely sure why. After all, the halfwit had managed to get himself killed. Chaves was convinced that if he had to hear another halfhearted expression of condolences, he would simply burst into flames out of spite.

At first, he had attempted to get out of the funeral, but Lady Ravenclaw would have none of it. "You may not have always seen eye to eye, but you  _are_  a professor here, and as such, you will go to show your support and mourn someone who you described as being like family. Or have you forgotten?" she had quipped, quirking her eyebrows as she had waited for a response. He had had none to give, of course, and so he was there, rounding off his third year of teaching by baking in the hot July sun.

Chaves managed to slip away finally, feigning hunger, and he took up residence beside the feast that was laid out for the occasion. All around him, the gossip mill was churning. The particulars about Lord Gryffindor's death had been kept secret out of respect for all parties involved. But as he leaned against a tree trunk, Chaves eavesdropped on a nearby conversation.

"Do you know how it happened?" a woman dressed in blue robes whispered to her friend as if she was being coy and no one could see.

"I heard it was terribly embarrassing and that's why they chose to keep it a secret. Afraid of bringing shame to the Gryffindor name, I suppose," the woman beside her said, swan feather bobbing in her hat while she covered her mouth to hide a yawn as if it were all fretfully dull.

"You don't think it was  _intentional,_ do you?" the first woman asked.

"I hardly believe the great Godric Gryffindor would stoop so low," an older woman dressed in emerald said, injecting herself into the conversation with a sneer.

The women twittered on like annoying birds, but Chaves tuned them out. There was no need for him to speculate; he was aware of how Lord Gryffindor's demise had come about. He was inadvertently involved, a fact that he was quick to cover up. It had been innocent, at first, but that was how all great things started, wasn't it?

" _Do you fancy me in some way, or are you as dull as everyone says?" Chaves asked when the Gryffindor boy entered his office._

_They boy's eyes had gone wide as he stuttered, "M-my Lord?"_

_He was from a wise and noble family, and thus far, Chaves could only assume he had been adopted._

" _This is the fourth detention I have been forced to give you this week. It seems almost...intentional. Would you agree?"_

" _N-no, my lord! It isn't!"_

" _Then what is it?"_

" _Well, you see...It's only that I...I mean..."_

" _I don't have all day, Master Rainecourt."_

" _It's the other students, my lord. They say it was a mistake, me being in Gryffindor, because I haven't the bravery for it."_

Nor the wit for Ravenclaw, clearly, _Chaves thought as he stood and rounded the desk. The boy visibly flinched. Obviously, the other students' doubts were neither exaggerated nor unfounded. Chaves took a seat on the edge of his desk as he spoke._

" _Listen, for I shall only say this once. Blind bravery is folly. Any dimwit can rush headlong into a dangerous situation. The trick is knowing when to rush in and how to handle yourself. Bravery alone is not, nor has ever been, enough."_

" _But, my lord, I am a_ Gryffindor _. If I haven't bravery, what have I?"_

" _Bravery. Is that really all you Gryffindors think of?" Chaves scoffed as he pushed off from the desk and slowly began pacing the room. "If that is all you have need of, to be brave, then any hair-brained scheme would do to prove your brainless brawn. Throwing yourself off Ravenclaw Tower, perchance, to show your fearlessness of heights? Ride a wild thestral? Hunt down the wild chimaera that is terrorizing the countryside? Honestly, Master Rainecourt, use that feeble thing you call a brain."_

_Chaves paused from his pacing long enough to glance at the student, who was studying the floor intently._

" _Today's detention shall be cleaning the privies, and if you receive one more detention this week, I assure you I shall go to Lady Ravenclaw myself and petition for your expulsion. Have I made myself clear?"_

Chaves slipped around the tree as the goggle of women moved, hugging its shadow so he wouldn't be seen. Funerals were tedious, and he was eager for this one to end.

Besides, how was he to know that Master Rainecourt would be so reckless? In hindsight, he should have assumed, given his Gryffindor nature, but Chaves had hoped, perhaps naively, that his lecture had some positive effect. To the contrary, it had gotten one of his colleagues killed.

_The door to his office slammed open, and a disheveled, pale Lord Gryffindor darted inside._

" _I need your help," he said, slamming his palms down on the large desk._

" _What troubles you?" Chaves asked, flicking his wand and sending what he was working on to neatly stack in a corner._

" _You know a student of mine, Master Rainecourt. Yes, of course you do, the troublemaker he is. I fear this time he has gone too far."_

" _What is it he's done now?"_

_Chaves rubbed his temples, preparing for the worst._

" _According to his housemates, he is hunting a chimaera."_

" _What?!"_

_No amount of preparation would have readied him for that. Of all the idiotic...how stupid could he...what was that boy thinking? In true Gryffindor fashion, he wasn't, obviously._

" _What do you need from me?" Chaves asked._

" _Find Helga and Rowena. Not much is known about chimaeras, though I have no doubts that this will require all of us. I shall go ahead, but be swift in following."_

" _Don't be foolish. No one has ever killed a chimaera. If you go alone, you march to your death."_

_Unlike his colleague, Chaves was aware of exactly what they were up against. He had had the opportunity to meet the wizard who had created the first chimaera, a small, broken man by the name of Herpo, who bared only a slight resemblance to a human after having been mauled by his own creation._

" _I have no choice!" Lord Gryffindor slammed his fist against the table, and there was the sound of splintering as bits of it gave way under the force. "I have no idea what so possessed him, but there is a second year out there as we speak. I shall not forsake him. It is our job, first and foremost, to protect our students."_

They had saved the boy, who was trembling and bleeding in a nearby tree by the time help had arrived, but they had been unable to save their friend. It was regrettable that the one thing Godric Gryffindor could irrefutably claim to have done right in his life was so neatly covered up. The world still, somehow, regarded him as a hero, but they had no idea the depth of his heart. There was certainly something to be said about Gryffindor bravery—as well as Gryffindor stupidity.

Chaves glanced across the yard where Master Rainecourt was standing in the protective shadow of his parents. For the briefest second, their eyes met, and he was convinced it had not been in vain. There was a flash of life in those brown eyes that had not been there previously, a new sort of resolve that had somehow strengthened an otherwise meek soul.

Chaves pondered, as he sipped at his drink, how something so trivial as wishing to be brave could so change a person. The power of granting wishes, it seemed, was not to be underestimated.

**...oOo...**

When Lady Hufflepuff fell ill, Chaves assumed it was her age—until he saw the brooch. It was beautiful—a silver snowflake enchanted to sparkle—and it was killing her. This would be the second time he would, in some way, be implicated in the death of a colleague, but, like Lord Gryffindor, he was sure it was a sacrifice she would willingly make had she known. So he kept silent as she withered away. It was for the greater good, after all, and she had been an unwitting target.

What else was he supposed to have done when a student came to him, devastated by the realization that his younger brother was a Squib?

"My brother should start Hogwarts next year. He'll be eleven. We should be Slytherins together. But now, that will never happen. Now, Mother and Father will be forced to disown him, and I'll have no choice but to cut off contact. I don't want that, Professor! We have already lost a younger brother and a younger sister from illness. I can't bear the thought of losing another," the student had confided in him, doing his best to ward off the tears but, in the end, they ran freely down his face anyway. "I just...I wish there was some way to give him magic."

It had been in his bed that night, as he lay awake, shunning sleep, that Chaves had come up with an idea.

" _Are you sleeping?" Chaves whispered to the lump beside him in bed, barely visible in the moonlit darkness. There was no response, so he repeated himself, louder this time._

_Cepheus began to fuss in the cot next to theirs , beginning with a few murmurs as he slowly stirred and crescendoing to a full-lunged wail._

" _You woke the baby." Amaltheia grunted and flung her arm out, catching him in the thigh. The noise reverberated around the small room, and it stung, but Chaves was glad she was up, even as she stared daggers at him as she retrieved their son._

" _What is it that absolutely could not wait until morn?" she asked, loosening her evening robe enough to slip one side of it off her shoulder. Her skin shone a milky white in the silver moonlight as she lifted the babe to her bare breast and settled back into bed beside him._

" _Are you aware that your cousins have had a Squib?"_

" _My cousins? You need to be more specific. I have a lot of cousins."_

" _The ones from Auld Bogshire. They have an older boy already at Hogwarts."_

" _Oh yes, I heard. A shame, really. Their younger son is quite cunning and charming. He holds all the potential of a Black, if only he were a proper wizard."_

_Amaltheia paused to study Chaves' face in the moonlight. All the lines age had wrought into it, all the hard-learned lessons that marred his skin must have betrayed him in some way, because he was certain that she could read him just like a book._

" _You have something in mind?"_

" _His brother came to me today and wished for some way to give him magic. It gave me pause. What if there_ was _some way for it? What if we were to siphon magic from another? Is stolen magic not still magic?"_

" _What do you need from me?"_

" _I need a brooch."_

" _I didn't think you were the type, my love. Perhaps something green, to match your eyes?"_

_Amaltheia grinned, and Chaves rolled his eyes in response, though he was sure the motion was lost in the darkness._

" _Not for_ me _. It has to be something simple and charming, not too fancy, but which would make any witch glad to receive it."_

" _Why ask me? Why not make one yourself?"_

" _First, I haven't your flair for women's fashion. Second, and the one I suspect you most want to hear, you are far more skilled at Charms than I."_

" _You caught me," Amaltheia whispered as she leaned in closer, taking care not to wake the baby again. Her lips brushed his cheek lightly as she laughed. "I would have helped regardless, though. They're family, and it's my duty. You shall have your brooch by next week, and any witch should think themselves lucky to wear it."_

True to her word, Amaltheia had fashioned a magnificent brooch, which he had passed on to his student the following week.

" _Give this to a witch of your choice," Chaves explained, handing over the brooch._

" _What is it?" the boy asked, turning the silver decoration over in his hand._

" _It has the power to make your wish come true. If you give this to a witch and this clasp to your brother," as he spoke, Chaves extricated what looked like an ordinary wizard's clasp from his robes and passed that to him, "then the magic will flow through one to the other. Your brother has the ability to use magic in his blood; he simply possesses none of his own."_

" _Do...do you think this will work?"_

" _It should. At the very least, it's worth trying."_

It did work. Perhaps a bit too well. The weaker Lady Hufflepuff grew, the stronger the young Master Black grew, according to reports from his brother. No one thought anything of it. After all, she was already advanced in years, and death was a natural conclusion to every life.

Chaves felt it was a fitting end. If Lord Gryffindor should go as a hero, of course Lady Hufflepuff the Gentle would, in her final act, give of herself the greatest gift she could. Her magic would serve to further the future, and she would live on in the next generation. It was a fitting tribute for a generous witch.

The warm, summer day her House-Elf found Lady Hufflepuff cold and lifeless in her bed was the day he received a letter from the eldest Black boy:

_My parents say it is a miracle. My brother has received his Hogwarts invitation letter. Thank you for making my wish come true._

There may be something there, in granting wishes, that was worth the risk, Chaves decided. Something, even, that may be worth pursuing.

**...oOo...**

"It has been three days, young Lord Slytherin.  _Three days_  since I sent the baron after my dear Helena. What could be keeping them?" She gasped as a realization slithered its way into her mind. "Could something have happened?"

"Rest, Lady Ravenclaw. It will do no good to imagine the worst. Save your strength," Chaves said, patting her hand lightly.

The famous Ravenclaw wit had been dulled as of late due to her illness, which was devouring both body and mind. It was evident the moment she requested, in secrecy of course, that a baron who had a well-known infatuation with her daughter to be the one to return her safely.

"I just want to see my daughter one last time. Whatever our differences, whatever has happened between us, I need to see her. I need her to know I forgive her. Is that too much to ask?"

"Of course not, my lady. You rest. I shall see what I can do."

Chaves took his leave, making his way back to his private chambers through the maze of fresh students. It was a new year, which meant a new start for many. Hogwarts had needed a new start, too, after cycling through three professors attempting to replace Lady Hufflepuff after her passing. None had seemed like a good fit.

As soon as he reached his chambers, Chaves collapsed into his chair, pulled a drink from his desk, and called out, "Minyin!"

With a pop, the House-Elf appeared, stooping his head as he asked, "How can Minyin serves Master?"

"I need you to find someone, Minyin. Do you know Lady Helena Ravenclaw?"

"Of course Minyin knows. Lady sneaks treats and pretty things to us House-Elves." As soon as the words left his mouth, Minyin's eyes grew wide and he clamped his bony fingers over his mouth. "Oh noes, Minyin is bad House-Elf!"

"Calm yourself, Minyin. Your secret is safe with me. Lady Helena has gone missing, though, and I need you to find her. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Master. Minyin is happy to help."

With another pop, he was gone, and Chaves was left to tend the rest of his day. Classes were uneventful and required the usual amount of cleaning after Master Hanegan erupted his potion, as usual. The boy was a danger, not only to himself but to those around him, and Chaves suspected the only reason he was extended an invitation was because his father was an influential baron who had high, likely misplaced, hopes for his heir.

Night found him in his office, pacing the length of it, debating whether to remain there and wait for news or to travel home that evening. His question was answered with a  _pop_  and a flurry of flailing limbs as Minyon came barreling into the room with a hasty teleport.

"Master! Master! Minyin has awful news. Horrible. Terrible. Worst news."

"What is it, Minyin? What of Lady Helena?"

"Dead, Master! Dead." The House-Elf let out an unearthly wail as he tugged at his ears.

"Minyin, I—"

"Murdered. Lady was murdered. Dead. Dead!"

"Minyin, you need to—"

"Horrible! Terrible! Minyin could do nothings."

Chaves yanked out his wand and cast a silencing charm on the House-Elf. It took a minute or two for him to cease his lament and only then did Chaves lift it.

"I need you to tell me what happened, Minyin."

"Minyin found Lady in the woods. And blood...blood everywhere. They were covered in it."

"They?"

"Yes, yes. Lady and Baron. Dead, both dead."

"How?"

"A knife. Someone stabs them. Poor Lady!"

"Go, Minyin. Gather the teachers and lead them there," Chaves ordered before he could begin his wailing again. Amid a string of sobs, the House-Elf disappeared to carry out the order.

Chaves made his way back to Lady Ravenclaw's quarters and let himself in quietly. She was looking worse than before, her skin had taken on an ashen hue, but she stirred as he approached, eyes fluttering open.

"Young Lord Slytherin. Do you have news of my Helena?" she asked. Just from her voice, he could tell she was growing tired of this world.

"I have. Earlier, you wished to see her again, did you not?"

"I did. Oh, I did," Lady Ravenclaw moaned, rolling her head from side to side on her pillow.

"Is that truly what you want? Regardless of the consequences?"

"It is, yes. What I want more than anything else in the world."

"Then, I shall grant your wish."

He seized the spare pillow on her bed and pressed it against her face, leaning his weight onto it. She struggled feebly, raking her nails down the flesh of his arm and digging long, angry marks along them. Her arms and feet flailed blindly and her chest heaved for air, but Chaves refused to let up. Sometimes, what we wish for is what will be our downfall. It was what she wanted, regardless of the consequences. That was what she agreed to. It was the only way that she could ever be with her daughter now.

The movements slowed, but Chaves held the pillow there. He had to make sure the job was finished. Lady Ravenclaw's thrashing ceased, and her body shuddered with an occasional convulsion. A minute later, he returned the pillow to its proper place.

He had to move quickly or it would all be a waste. Even though it was unintended, there would be a way that Lady Ravenclaw's death wouldn't be in vain. It was Dark magic, the darkest sort, and Chaves had learned it on an excursion to Greece, where he had met an interesting old wizard who had a curious aversion to death.

Chaves drew his wand and grabbed the nearest thing he could find, something that would be guaranteed to stand the test of time—the Sorting Hat. The spell was difficult, and it had taken quite a bit of coaxing for Herpo to finally reveal its secrets. Chaves was able to use _Crucio_ without fear of killing the foolish wizard, and Herpo's mind had already been fragmented from years of torment of his own invention. Eventually, he had given in.

The sacrifice had already been made, so Chaves repeated the incantation he had learned. A fire was lit somewhere in his gut, warming his insides at first and then burning. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. Something in him was tearing, ripping apart, like knives fileting him alive.

He cast a non-verbal  _silencio_  so no one would hear his screams as he curled into a ball on the floor. It felt like his body was being torn apart, splitting at the most miniscule level. Was the crazy, old wizard wrong? Was the spell killing him? Minutes felt like eons, but eventually the pain subsided to a stabbing ache. The hat glowed red for a second before returning to normal as Chaves pulled himself to his feet, still doubled over in pain. Taking small steps, he returned it to its place on the shelf and shuffled back to the bedside.

Lady Ravenclaw looked serene, as if her troubles had been released. Chaves wished her a safe journey to wherever lay beyond the veil as he crossed her arms over her chest and rearranged her body to look as if she had passed in her sleep.

Chaves turned to go, but a slight movement drew him back into the room. He stepped closer to inspect the body and nearly soiled himself when the eyes rolled back and it shot upright.

"Chaves Slytherin...or should I call you Harry Potter?" The lips moved as if she was speaking, but the voice that came out was deep and raspy and otherworldly. "I've been watching you."

"Wh-who are you?" Chaves asked, leaning against the door frame for support.

"I go by many names, just as you do, but I believe you know me as Death."


	3. The Wishmaster

Chaves was reluctant to believe his eyes, but then again, if not Death, who else could animate a corpse? And Lady Ravenclaw was most assuredly deceased; he had made sure of it.

"If you are who you say." Chaves paused as a fresh spasm of pain tore through him. Once it subsided and he was able to regain his breath, he continued, "Then what do you want from me? And why call me by a name that is not my own?"

"You mean Harry Potter? Oh, but it is yours. It belonged to you before you even became a Slytherin. Before your mother's dying wish brought you here. Before someone else's wish brought me here."

"Why have you come?"

Chaves' head was throbbing as if there was something inside it vying to hatch from his skull, and all this talk of former lives did little to quell it. The room swam as his body trembled in pain, and he braced himself against the door frame until it passed.

When his vision cleared, he was greeted by the sight of Lady Ravenclaw's corpse twisting its blue-tinged lips into a grotesque grin.

"You seem to have a penchant for granting others' wishes, but there remains one wish you cannot grant: your own."

"Tell me how."

"Heartborne will find the way."

"What does that mean?"

"If you come find me, I'll tell you. But I have to warn you, I'm not particularly easy to find."

The jaw parted unnaturally and released a hollow, echoing laugh that caused Chaves to shudder. It lasted for an eternity, fraying every last nerve, and when Chaves thought he could endure it no longer without going mad, the laughter stopped.

Lady Ravenclaw's corpse slumped back onto the pillow and resumed its restful position. The room stilled as if nothing had happened, but Chaves knew better than that. He had been issued a challenge, and there was no choice but to accept. He felt it deep in his soul; this was his destiny.

**...oOo...**

Chaves had half a mind to steal away like a wisp of breath in the darkness: unseen and unheard. Watching the sleeping figure rise and fall with respiration, he knew that was never an option. They both deserved more than that.

Chaves stopped at the edge of the bed, looking down at the sleeping frame. The boy had inherited the messy, black Slytherin hair, but he had his mother's fierce, gray eyes. Chaves sat on the edge of the bed and shook him lightly. Cepheus groaned and pulled his blanket up higher, burying his head in the crook of his arm. Chaves smiled. The boy had inherited his mother's aversion to waking early, as well.

"Wake, Cepheus, just for a moment," Chaves whispered, shaking him once more. One eyelid slowly lifted to reveal a bloodshot eye.

"Father?" came the groggy, sleep-laden reply.

"Listen close, little snake. You are nearly of age, and next year, you shall begin your Hogwarts training. Every great wizard needs a great wand, no?" Chaves pulled a long, thin box from his robes and held it out.

Cepheus' eyes widened, and he shed his blanket as quickly as he did sleep as he bolted upright in bed. He reached out with trembling hands and took the box. He paused with his hand on the top of it, glancing once at Chaves for reassurance, who nodded his approval.

When Cepheus opened the box and pulled out the wand, a grin stretched across his face and a familiar fire burned in his eyes.

"I can have this?"

"It belonged to my father, and now, it belongs to you. Sixteen inches, yew, Runespoor fang core. I dare say it will serve you well. I have no doubts that you will be a great wizard."

Cepheus' smile faltered, and he laid the wand gently back in its box.

"Are you leaving, Father?"

"Yes."

"I wish you would stay with us."

"I knew you would say that, and I shall. Here," Chaves pointed to his son's heart as he spoke, "and in here." He pulled a locket from his robes, a beautiful gold piece with emeralds in the shape of an 'S', and placed it in Cepheus' hand, closing the boy's fingers around it. "I taught you the language of serpents, little snake, and if you ask it, this locket will open for you. Inside are our memories together, so you may have a piece of me wherever you go."

Cepheus wrapped his arms around his father's neck, and Chaves pulled him tight and whispered in his ear, "Be brave, little snake. Your future is bright."

Chaves tucked him back in quietly and made his way to the front door, where his wife was waiting.

"You will not change your mind?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"I will not. I cannot. We promised, years ago, to be together until death parted us." Chaves pulled her against his chest and ran his fingers through her hair.

"This is not quite what I expected," she said into his robes.

"Nor I, but this is where fate has led us."

"Then go." Amaltheia stepped back, and Chaves reluctantly let her slip away. "Go chase your destiny, my love. We are strong and shall be just fine."

With one last look to commit it all to memory—the way her hair gleamed in the moonlight, the glint of steel in her eyes, the power in her voice—Chaves disappeared out into the night. Falling in love was the easiest thing he had ever done; leaving it all behind was the hardest.

**...oOo...**

The thirteenth century was a bloody time. Bad for wizards, who were forced into hiding to avoid the lynchings. Even worse for non-magical folk, who died by the drove in whatever useless battle du jour was being toted to the masses as the end-all, be-all. Good, however, for those seeking Death.

Chaves learned to melt into shadow and steal snippets of conversation from careless passersby. Someone would see an eerie shadow creeping along, the flutter of a robe perchance, the rattle of bones, a disconcerting laugh. The whispers of Death traveled eastward, and so did Chaves, always one step behind.

That was how he came to slip into the fields around Flanders under the cloak of darkness. The grass was already moistened by the cool night, and the air was ladened with the metallic odor of blood.

Much to his disappointment, Chaves noticed no creeping shadows or fluttering robes as he picked his way through the maze of bodies. There was nothing moving save him and the dredges of society whose task it was to bury the dead. He trudged deeper into the field, listening to the whisper of the high grass as he walked.

"Bothersome battles," he muttered when his robe snagged on some unseen menace in the darkness. He tugged it several times, cursing under his breath, before it finally yanked free. He smoothed his robes back into place, but when he went to continue on his way, something caught his ankle.

Chaves looked down in the milky-white eyes of a grinning corpse whose muddy, gray fingers were squeezing into the flesh of his leg. Instinctively, he kicked at it, wresting his ankle free.

"I thought I was the one you were looking for, but if you want to be like that, maybe I should just leave."

"No, wait," Chaves said, but before he could get another word out, the corpse slumped back onto the ground like a puppet whose strings were cut. A laugh slithered out from its motionless mouth, softly at first and crescendoing to a deep, rumbling cackle. It echoed around the battlefield as corpse after corpse began to emit the same laugh.

The shrieks of the humans joined the cacophony, and they tripped over each other as they fled back towards Bouvines and the safety of the militia. Chaves pushed further into the field, chasing the sound.

"You challenged me to find you, and I have!" Chaves called out, turning in circles for some sign of movement that might give away Death's position. "You owe me answers!"

To his left, a soldier sat up, and his head twisted around as if there were no bones in its body, even though Chaves could hear them snapping with the motion.

"I owe you nothing," the corpse snarled, the last word echoing around the field.

Chaves raced towards it, but by the time he got there, it was little more than a husk slumped against the ground. He was starting to believe that cornering Death was akin to bottling sunlight. Several meters away to the right, another corpse sat up with jerky movements.

"Besides, you haven't really found me, now have you?" the voice taunted. Chaves charged the corpse again, but once more, Death was gone by the time he got there.

From behind him, the voice said, "It's more like I've found you. But that's not really much of a challenge, now, is it?"

Chaves whirled around just in time to watch the abandoned corpse fall back into the tall grass.

"How can I be expected to find you if whenever I get close you turn tail and run like a coward?"

A corpse several meters in front of him stood up, the shadows writhing around it in seething tendrils. He had struck a chord, it seemed, but it worked in his favor.

"In fifty years' time, I will bestow three gifts on wizard-kind. One," the corpse held up a blood-stained finger, "a hair from a Thestral buried in ancient wood. Two, the eye of a deceased phoenix turned to stone. Three, a piece of fabric torn from my robe. I will give them to three brothers crossing the River Thames. If you can find all three, then, and only then, I will tell you how to grant your wish."

"Fifty years? But that is..."

"A blink of an eye for someone who can't die. Actions have consequences. You'll learn to live with them. Until then, heartborne will find the way."

Before Chaves could object, a gust of wind kicked up and the corpse collapsed to the ground. He was alone again, amidst a field of dead, but at least he was closer to his destiny. Even if he didn't understand Death's message—and perhaps it was not such a bad thing to have a weak understanding of Death after all—at least there was a course for the future.

In fifty years' time, he would have to scour the countryside along the River Thames, but he would find those brothers. He was sure of it.

**...oOo...**

When rumors began cropping up about a wizard claiming to possess Death's wand, Chaves originally dismissed them. No wizard could possibly be that dimwitted.

As he sat listening to the drunken tirade unfolding at the other end of the pub, Chaves began to realize that perhaps he had been a bit hasty in his assessment. Stupidity, it seemed, knew no bounds.

"Is there no one, n-n-no one," the wizard paused as he fought to regain his balance, "who would dare challenge me, the great Antioch Peverell?"

He scanned the room with amusement, placing his hands on his hips as he staggered around the pub.

"Come on, now. Surely there must be one of you who is not quite as lily-livered as the rest. Just because I am unbeatable does not mean you should not try."

"Unbeatable? Ye can barely stand," scoffed a wizard from the Highlands. "Ye cannae even walk. How do ye intend to fight?"

"That is my business." The words were punctuated by a hiccup, and Antioch covered his mouth briefly as he tried to hold down his liquor. "Now, will you fight me or not?"

The Highlander stood to meet the challenge, pulling himself up to his full six-foot-something frame. He easily dwarfed Antioch, who seemed nonplussed by the fact. Either that, or he was unable to comprehend it. Chaves wasn't sure which, but he perked up as Antioch pulled his wand from his robe.

It was unlike any Chaves had ever seen—a little under half a yard long, white, with etchings down the length of it. Was that the Thestral hair buried in ancient wood that Death had spoken of? Chaves scooted closer to the fight, moving his chair against a wall and putting up a shield just in case.

The Highlander moved first, and his skill in dueling was evident. Three spells erupted from his wand in quick succession—blue, white, and red. The first two were easily recognizable and mostly harmless, but the third would do some damage. At the very least, it should have forced Antioch further off-balance...but it didn't. The spells were absorbed, in harmless flashes, by his shield.

"That cannae be!" The Highlander knitted his brows and clutched his wand tighter.

Chaves agreed. It shouldn't be possible. Not for any normal wand, at least, but he was sure that was no normal wand. That was Death's wand. It had to be.

"I told you, no man can defeat me! I possess the strongest wand ever made in the heavens and on Earth. Allow me to demonstrate its power."

With a flourish of his wand, Antioch sent a blast of yellow light shooting across the room. There was no denying its impressive strength, but it was also way off the mark. It passed the Highlander to his left and sank into the back wall of the pub, boring a hole out into the night.

"'Ey!" The pub owner rounded the bar, waving his wand at Antioch. "I dare say that you have had plenty to drink." He flicked his wand toward the hole, and the shattered wood leapt back into place." "Upstairs with you to sleep off your stupor before you destroy something that I am unable to fix."

The barkeep shooed him towards the rickety staircase in the corner of the room, and Antioch hobble his way up it, muttering about his undeniable might. Chaves watched him go and waited another fifteen minutes before casting a cloaking spell and following him up.

Antioch seemed to have barely made it into the straw cot that passed as a bed before his inebriation got the best of him, judging by the way he was splayed across it on his back. For such an powerful wizard, he sure was sloppy. Unbeatable? Hardly.

Chaves drew his wand and, with a flick of his wrist and a flash of red, cleaved a crimson line across his throat. The dolt didn't even have the sense to wake as his life gushed from him, staining the straw beneath him.

Chaves plucked the wand from Antioch's robes. It was beautiful up close, truly a masterpiece as far as wands go, but it could never replace his own, so he tucked it away for safekeeping.

"Chaves Harry Potter Slytherin," said a familiar voice, and he glanced up to find Antioch sitting up in bed, head lolling sideways at a weird angle. "Killing indiscriminately hardly seems like you."

"I have done no such thing. I heard the Highlander wishing that he had the opportunity to 'prove that dirty cur wrong,' I believe he put it. He seems to have learned his lesson."

The lips parted into a grin as Death spoke. "So you've managed to retrieve one of my Hallows, but there's still two more. Do you really think you can find the other two?"

"In time."

Chaves cast another cloaking spell and slipped back downstairs and into the night, followed by the echo of Death cackling wildly from the room upstairs.

**...oOo...**

"Peverell, you say? Hm." The doctor scratched at his beard as he tried to recall. Chaves' search had led him to a small, out-of-the-way village, the sort where the doctor was the most likely to know everyone, so that was the first person he thought to ask.

"He has two brothers. That is all I know."

"Peverell. Now, why does that name—Cadmus!" The doctor struck his palm with his fist as his memory finally sparked to life. "Cadmus Peverell is the man you seek. I have not seen him since Rohesia died, though."

"Rohesia?"

"His wife. Died giving him a son. Poor Cadmus was never the same. I imagine he remains there, in that same house, just outside of town. I can give you directions."

"Please."

Chaves left the doctor's house taking the dirt path out of town towards what used to be hills, according to the residents. In the past years, it had begun to grow wild, and a generous thicket now obstructed the sparse houses that had remained there.

The cottage was right where it had always been and, just as the doctor said, Cadmus Peverell was inside. But the atmosphere grew heavy as Chaves approached, and he knew there was Dark magic afoot. He was well enough versed with it to feel its familiar, clammy touch and the suffocating heaviness of it.

With a very brief knocked, he threw open the door. In the corner, Cadmus jumped up, nearly spilling the potion that he clutched in his trembling hands.

"W-who are you?" he asked, setting the potion on a side table, looking like a hare cornered by a wolf.

"Lord Chaves Slytherin. Forgive me for the rude intrusion. However, I believe you have something I am searching for, and I have come a long way for it."

"Oh?"

"A stone. I have no doubt you know the one."

Cadmus' countenance suddenly darkened, and a chill crept into the air. So he did have the stone after all. That was good news.

"Forsake whatever infernal quest you are on. The Stone will not bring you what you seek. Leave now while you still can."

"The Stone is not as you had imagined? Is that why you were intending to drink poison when I arrived?" Chaves motioned to the desk, and Cadmus' eyes flicked toward it nervously. "To be with Rohesia?"

"What do you know of her?" Cadmus' hands balled into fists and his posture went rigid. It seemed wise to tread lightly.

"I heard from the doctor. Sorry for your loss."

"The doctor. Of course." Cadmus scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I knew I should have used a memory charm. Non-magicals talk too much."

Cadmus paused and inspected Chaves head to toe. After the second sweep, he said, "I suppose it would not hurt, given that you already know."

He pulled something small out of his pocket and cupped it in his palm. With one more brief hesitation, he held it out. It looked like a small, black pebble, smooth and round. With his other hand, Cadmus turned the stone three times.

A form materialized between them, a young woman with long, chestnut locks and a round, pleasant face. Chaves stepped closer to touch her, but his hand passed right through, leaving behind a cold, tingling sensation on his skin. She was here, but she was still there, too—beyond the veil.

"I can bring her back, yes, and we can be together, but we can never truly be together. The veil still divides us, even now. I cannot stand to be so close and have such a distance between us. Do you understand?" Cadmus' voice rose as he started to pace the room, shoving aside any furniture that got in his way. Rohesia looked on with sad eyes as he upended a stand.

"So you drink the poison and you are reunited, at last, with your wife, but what of your son?"

"My son." Cadmus slowed in his tirade and paused as the realization settled in his mind. "My son is too young yet to remember his father, and he will never know of his mother. He would do well with another family. A good wizarding family somewhere."

Cadmus smiled as if something had just dawned on him, and he crossed the room in a few large steps.

"You want this, yes? You came for the Stone," he said, shaking it at Chaves.

"I did."

"You may have it, if you grant me one request."

"Name it."

"Find my son a home where he will be safe. If you can do that, you may have the Stone and my blessing with it."

"I will do as you ask."

"Then take it." Cadmus laid the stone in Chaves' hand. It was oddly warm to the touch and seemed to emanate a powerful magic of its own. "Take it and be on your way. Leave me to die in peace."

Chaves ducked out of the house with the Stone pressed firmly into his palm. He would have to deal with the young Peverell before searching for the third Hallow, but he had time.

"You won't find the third," a voice called after him as he began to make his way away from the Peverell residence. "He's hidden, even from me."

It was followed by a loud cackling that raised the hackles on the back of Chaves' neck, but he kept walking regardless. As close as he was, he refused to be dissuaded from pursuing his destiny.

**...oOo...**

"How did you find me?" Ignotus Peverell asked, lifting his hood slightly, just enough for Chaves to catch a glimpse of two twinkling, sapphire eyes set in a wrinkled, haggard face.

"I found your son and waited for him to lead me to you."

"You are some wizard. Smart and resourceful. Unfortunately, I cannot give you what you seek. The cloak is mine, and when I take it off, it will be to greet Death and pass it on to my son."

"I am not asking for the Cloak. All that I ask is that I be there when you pass it on. I, too, have a reason to greet Death."

There was silence from the chair opposite him, and for the first time, Chaves was discomforted by the fact that he couldn't see Ignotus' reaction. The response came a moment later.

"I will not ask your reasons. We all have our own. As long as you do not interfere with my family, I see no harm in your being there. In two weeks' time, meet me back here, in front of my home."

What he so fondly called a "home" was really little more than a shack, but it was neither the place nor time to argue semantics, so Chaves thanked him and took his leave. He bode his time for two weeks and then made his way back to the spot.

"Are you ready, Father?" the younger Master Peverell asked, wringing his shirt nervously.

"Of course. This time comes for all creatures. Death is only natural. Are you ready, Lord Slytherin, to find what you, too, have been seeking?"

"I am. More than ready."

In truth, Chaves was merely a mess of emotions. He was nervous, in some weird way, to meet Death face-to-face after the years of chasing the elusive creature. Yet, he was excited for this final chance at his destiny and eager to greet whatever the future was sure to bring.

"Then, it is time."

Ignotus pulled the Cloak off, revealing himself little by little as it pulled free of his diminished frame. It looked like moonlight woven together, fluid and shimmering, as it came into view. The Cloak of Invisibility.

A gust of wind kicked up, sending the dried and dying leaves flying around them and tugging at their robes.

"Well met, Ignotus Peverell," the shadows crooned with a kindness that Chaves was not accustomed to from that voice. The shadows swirled, slowly at first and then quicker, like a black tornado, and when they fell away, they revealed a black robe that hung in tatters on a skeletal frame. "Is it time already?"

"It is."

"Then come see what awaits you beyond the veil."

The robe slipped back to reveal stark-white phalanges as Death held out his hand. Without hesitation, Ignotus took it, and the shadows billowed around him until he dissolved into the night.

"I believe we have business to attend to, as well," Chaves said, stepping closer to Death. The darkness writhed around him, but Chaves refused to be intimidated. He had come much too far to let something so insignificant as being in the presence of a near-deity stop him.

"Do we? From where I stand, you don't seem to have held up your end of the bargain. Where are my Hallows? You haven't brought them to me."

"I believe what you said is that I had to find them, and I have. The wand is here, with me." Chaves patted the side of his robe where he always kept the wand hidden, though he had never found cause to use it. "And the Cloak, as you can see, is here."

He motioned back towards Ignotus' son, who was trembling with trepidation. The way the color had drained from his face, Chaves was almost amazed that he hadn't fainted on the spot.

"And my stone?"

"With its rightful owner, who will know the love of a mother and father who regret not being able to raise him together. As it turns out, beyond the veil is not so far a distance between a son and his parents as between a lover and his wife."

Death laughed, but it was gentler this time than it had ever been before.

"My, you do have a penchant for finding loopholes, don't you Chaves Harry Potter Slytherin?"

"My name is Chaves. Just Chaves. Or Lord Slytherin, if you prefer."

"I couldn't care less what you choose to call yourself. We're both here for a reason, so let's get this over with. You want something, yes?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you want this? Regardless of the consequences?"

"Yes."

"I want to hear you say it."

"I want to become the Wishmaster."

Death laughed coldly, and Chaves wondered if maybe he made a mistake. But no, he had dedicated his life to this, and he would see it through. Whatever the consequences. Whatever the sacrifice.

"I already told you, all those years ago when we first spoke. You've had the answer all along. Heartborne will find the way."

Before he could react, Death was reaching for him with his long, bony fingers. For just a second, Chaves caught a glimpse underneath the hood—a skull shimmering in the moonlight with its brow ridges knitted and its mouth pulled into an ominous grin.

Chills ran through his body as bone touched his skin—the paralyzing, clammy touch of Death. Then pain erupted in his chest, and Chaves realized that the bones were boring into his flesh. He tried to fight them, but he was frozen to the spot.

He was screaming, so loud that it reverberated in his head and swallowed all the sound from the world. The pain was unbearable, worse than sheering off part of his soul. It was like his heart was pumping razor blades that were lacerating him from the inside. And still the hand pressed deeper into his chest.

The pain blurred his vision until the world was little more than shadows and bleary flashes of light. He was still screaming, but over the screams he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

As the pain climaxed, Chaves felt fingers wrap around his beating heart. He could have sworn, in that moment, that it stopped and everything went silent. Then he felt himself free-falling into darkness.

**...oOo...**

_Chaves is waiting in the shadows to grant the most important wish that had ever been cast into the universe. He had been waiting for it, had known it was coming, for a long time. This was the one wish, above all else, that had to be granted. It was already granted once; he just hadn't known it at the time._

_It's funny, as he creeps unseen around the room, how much he looks like his father. Not the one who had raised him, but the one he never knew. He's there, eyes full of fear, disheveled black hair, bags under his eyes. If anyone deserved to have their wishes granted, it was the Potters._

_When Lily runs upstairs, Chaves follows. As much as he looks like his father, he has his mother's green eyes. He can see all the love and maternal warmth he missed in his life in that one, brief moment as she stares into the crib, running a finger down her infant son's cheek._

_"You'll be safe, Harry," she whispers. "I promise."_

_Chaves wishes he could give her a sign, to let her know that her sacrifice will not—has never been—in vain, but that isn't how it happens. So he waits patiently for the moment he knows is nigh._

_As a flash of green envelops the room, Chaves can hear her wish loud and clear. It's one he's all too happy to grant, one he was always meant to hear._

I wish for my love to protect my son from death. Instead of killing him, let the next curse send him back in time where he will find someone to raise him.

_Chaves pulls his hourglass from his robe and pinches it between his fingers. When the second flash of green erupts from the wand, the hourglass begins to spin, and he is hurdling back in time, baby Harry in his arms, to the forest Salazar Slytherin found him in all those centuries ago._


End file.
